


they call it the season of giving (i'm here, yours for the taking)

by sunlightdances (glowinghorizons)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 08:32:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16761640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glowinghorizons/pseuds/sunlightdances
Summary: “I didn’t get anything for you guys!” You exclaim suddenly, embarrassment flooding your entire body. “You’ve never wanted to celebrate Christmas before, or I would have–”Dean says your name so gently you have to look away. “It’s okay. We just– we wanted to do this for you because we know we’ve both been pain in your asses lately, you know, what with going to prison and all.” He winks at you, trying to ease the tension that last part brings up.“I’ll get something for both of you. I will. Next time I get to the mall, I’ll–”“Relax and open up this damn box before I do it myself.” Dean says gruffly, shoving a wrapped box into your lap. You pretend you don’t notice how he’s gone red around his ears.The box is so carefully wrapped, and the thought of Dean doing this – picking out a gift, taking the time to wrap it for you – has your heart pounding in your chest. You also notice that Sam has suspiciously made himself scarce.





	they call it the season of giving (i'm here, yours for the taking)

“Kid, a little help here?” Dean calls, his voice muffled from down the hall.

You grumble to yourself as you force yourself to get out of bed. Just because it’s Christmas apparently doesn’t mean the guys are going to sleep in. You roll your eyes when you see the clock read just after seven o'clock.

When you get into the library, you rub your eyes, sure that you’ve stepped into some kind of alternate universe. “What… the frig?”

“Merry Christmas, kiddo.” Dean says, stepping past you with an armful of Christmas lights, pausing to press a kiss to your temple.

“We would have been done with this by now, but we got in late.” Sam says, putting a wrapped box under the _actual_ Christmas tree in the corner of the room.

“Give me a hand with these after you get a cup of coffee, yeah?” Dean asks, winking at you.

“I’m sorry. Where am I?”

“Very funny. Go get breakfast and come back so I can give you a fuckin’ present, alright?” Dean says, wry. He’s acting like he’s put out, but the way he’s looking at you is so fond, you almost can’t stand it.

You pad into the kitchen and get yourself a cup of coffee, letting yourself indulge in a few sips before you head back to the library. When you get there, Sam and Dean are shoving presents under the tree, and they straighten up when you come back, both with matching grins on their faces. “You sure you guys aren’t possessed?”

“Shut up,” Dean grumbles, “and sit down for a second.” He goes under the tree and grabs a box, bringing it back to you. “This one’s from Sam.”

You feel a little weepy when you see Sam’s messy scrawl on the tag addressing the gift to you, and Sam’s face is bashful as he urges you to open it.

He’s gotten you a new knife, this one with a beautifully carved handle and a shiny new blade. “You were complaining about yours being dull.” Sam says, smiling.

“I didn’t get anything for you guys!” You exclaim suddenly, embarrassment flooding your entire body. “You’ve never wanted to celebrate Christmas before, or I would have–”

Dean says your name so gently you have to look away. “It’s okay. We just– we wanted to do this for you because we know we’ve both been pain in your asses lately, you know, what with going to prison and all.” He winks at you, trying to ease the tension that last part brings up.

“I’ll get something for both of you. I will. Next time I get to the mall, I’ll–”

“Relax and open up this damn box before I do it myself.” Dean says gruffly, shoving a wrapped box into your lap. You pretend you don’t notice how he’s gone red around his ears.

The box is so carefully wrapped, and the thought of Dean doing this – picking out a gift, taking the time to wrap it for you – has your heart pounding in your chest. You also notice that Sam has suspiciously made himself scarce.

Carefully you peel back the paper, and when you open the box with some tissue inside, you’re afraid you really _will_ start crying.

It’s a picture. Not just any picture, but a _framed_ picture of the three of you around the table in the war room, and you must have been plotting and scheming, because you’re all leaning on the table, heads bent close together, but it’s different somehow. Sam’s head is tucked close to his chest, a grin blossoming on his face as he struggles not to laugh.

The rest of the photo is what really gets your attention, though, and it’s– there aren’t words for how it makes you feel. In it, Dean’s looking at you as you laugh, and the look on his face– well, if you didn’t know any better, and you’re starting to think maybe you _don’t_ – you’d say he was seriously smitten.

Dean clears his throat. “My– ah, my Mom took it. A few weeks ago when we were hunting that witch?” His eyes are sparkling at you. “Thought you might like it.”

You nod frantically. “Yeah. Yeah, I– this is– Dean, this means so much to me.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “I’m glad. I– we want you to know that you’ve always got a place here, okay? No matter how bad things get or how much of a jam we get into… just come here and we’ll figure it out. Together.”

You’re at a loss for words, so you don’t even try to say anything, you just stand up quickly, stepping into Dean’s arms – he already had them _open_ , for fuck’s sake – and hugging him with everything you’ve got.

The Winchesters mean more to you than you know how to put into words, and this kind of sentimental gift coming from someone who won’t touch an emotional moment with a ten foot pole… well, it means a lot. More than a lot.

You have accepted the fact that you have the world’s largest and most inconvenient crush on Dean, and you’ve mostly dealt with it, shoving those feelings so far down you don’t have to think about it anymore, but moments like this? Makes it real hard to remember why you’re doing it. After all, he’s the one looking at you like he kind of can’t believe you’re here after hugging you so tight he pulled you right up onto your toes.

“Kid.” He says, his voice rough. “There’s something else.”

“God.” You croak. “Not sure I can take much more.”

He chuckles. “This one is not as nice as that one. Just fair warning.”

“Dean, you could give me a fuckin’ friendship bracelet and I’d–”

He stops you by holding out his hand, and an absolutely breathless laugh leaves you when you see a six pack of beer in his hand with a bow on it, the kind you and he shared once when you stumbled upon a brewery in the middle of some small town in Wisconsin. “I’ll tell ya, these guys are sons of bitches about shipping costs but they make a damn good winter ale.”

It feels stupid, cliche even, to do what you do over a fuckin’ six pack of beer and a picture frame, but. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you press up on your toes, your body going solid against Dean’s for a heartbeat before you kiss him, your mouth molding to his like you’ve done this a hundred times before.

He makes a muffled noise against your mouth and the bottles in his hand make a clanking noise as his arms wind around you and pull you closer.

Your mouth opens under his and his tongue instantly invades your mouth, stroking yours and coaxing a whimper from you that would be embarrassing if you cared even a little bit.

Dean’s hips press against yours and has the both of you letting out choked off moans, which seems to only make you more desperate for him. His free hand has moved from your waist to sink into your hair instead, and the deep, gutteral noise he makes when you scratch along his scalp goes straight to where you’re already aching for him.

“Christ.” He says when you pull apart, and he moves for a half second to see the beer down before he gets both hands on you, fitting you to him like a puzzle piece. “Just to be clear, I didn’t get you those things in hopes that this would happen. I mean, don’t get me wrong, this is probably the best case scenario I could have imagined, but–”

“I know. I mean, I hope– look, I like you. Like, stupid, teenager stuff. Totally want to make out with you against a door. That kind of thing.”

His eyes light up. “I am _totally_ on board with that. Against a door, a wall, the car, whatever fuckin’ place you want, kid.”

Your smile is _embarrassing_. “I’m going to get you a gift. I swear.”

“This is good enough. I don’t need a present.” Dean says before he dives back in, and you find that you can’t really string a coherent thought together long enough to argue with him.


End file.
